Attagirl

Aging rockers, here are your late-career tricks: There is the sensitive, café singer/songwriter, the awkward electronica dabbler, the mellow lounge act, and-- of course-- the thirty-something band attempting to rock like the energetic college-radio stars they once were. After their 1992 breakout album Palomine, Bettie Serveert's popularity steadily declined, necessitating these career moves on 2003's frustrating Log 22. Attagirl, the band's sixth full-length, doesn't buck the trend as Bettie Serveert try to convince listeners-- and apparently themselves-- that these tropes are proof of some sort of musical development.

Never the most controversial or cynical songwriters, here vocalist Carol van Dyk and guitarist Peter Visser fully embrace the conservatism of adulthood and domesticity. Most of Bettie Serveert's material is written and recorded in Visser's cozy living room studio, and his once-mighty axe now sticks strictly to background noise and texture. Despite kicking off "Greyhound Song" with a Physical Graffiti-inspired slide riff, Visser plays slave to van Dyk's vocals and remains surprisingly inconspicuous. Instead, rudimentary sampling, piano, and acoustic guitar back Van Dyk's notoriously slight lyrics, as on the title track: "Don't say luck/ Is somewhere in the middle/ You've paid for your place in this world/ Attagirl."

On yawn yawn yawns "Don't Touch That Dial!" and "Hands Off", the band hopelessly goes after their Palomine-era intensity, like a thirtysomething woman trying to squeeze into her prom dress. Even sadder is the act-of-desperation cover of Bright Eyes' "Lover I Don't Have To Love". Former Matador labelmates of Pavement and Yo La Tengo shouldn't have to rely on the popularity of Bright Eyes to attract listeners, yet what is one to do when they've lost their edge? Suddenly, I understand why my father, an old rocker, used to sing along to rap songs in the car.